


and I came to tears (thinking of him)

by collieflower



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (and that's stretching it), Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Established Relationship, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, M/M, Moving In Together, Stanley Uris is So Done, eventually, he's the SINGLE responsible adult there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 17:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collieflower/pseuds/collieflower
Summary: It went like this:The semester was coming to a close. Stan knew they had to get something going, otherwise they would be homeless and sleeping in Eddie's bathtub, or maybe curled up in that shitty shower stall that's installed in Mike's and Bev's place.When Stan brought it up to Richie, they were sitting in a little booth sharing a plate of diner fries. Richie doused nearly the whole goddamn plate in ketchup just to make Stan gag."Bill mentioned a little apartment," Richie said, dragging an already-sopping fry through more ketchup. "Might snag the second bedroom before he tries to rent it out to someone on Craig’s List or something.”





	and I came to tears (thinking of him)

**Author's Note:**

> chapters will be longer in the future!!! this is mostly just to get this posted to get some motivation to finish the fic lmao
> 
> in my notes, this is called _the blanket fic_. You'll see why later :)

Stan caught Richie's eye from across the room, uncomfortable among the drunken students. He understood the need to cut loose, but the idea of getting trashed among so many strangers with eyes and active Snapchat accounts made Stan's palms sweat.

Richie was several shots in. Stan tried to keep count, just like he did with all the Losers. He kept mental tabs on everyone, and it only slightly stressed him out that Beverly and Eddie started upstairs with a baggie of new weed and an even newer strange boy between them. But Richie had been at this party long before he had; Stan had been pulled along by Bill as a reward for finishing a particularly garish paper for a course on Russian history he wasn’t even sure why he was taking.

When he and Bill had arrived, Richie was seen hip-deep in a drinking game, wearing someone else’s pants, and hair held back by a neon green elastic that gave Stanley flashbacks to early 2000’s fashion.

Rich held Stan’s eyes and just sent him a sharp grin, taking down shot #who-the-fuck-knows. Stan sent him a dry look, his mouth quirked down. A lemon wedge was shoved between his teeth by a girl still holding the vodka bottle. Richie grinned at her through the lemon slice. He took it out of his mouth and kissed her, sure fingers burying themselves into her hair.

Feeling his stomach roll, Stan looked away, switching tabs until he saw Bill nursing a bottle near a small collection of people near the kitchen entrance. He was three beers in. They were cheap, and this one was canned. Stan didn’t catch his eyes, so he looked back to Richie.

Trashmouth, who had found it within himself to detangle himself from the girl, and was now within three feet of Stan. Stan reached up to meet him, tugging his shirt back in place. There was lipstick on his collar, a deep, deep green that Stan couldn’t spot anywhere in the room.

“Fancy a drink, sir?” Richie asked, slinging an arm over Stan’s shoulders, drawing him in close until he was basically tucked into Rich’s side. Stan shot him down, winding an arm around his waist.

“And I think you’ve had enough, Rich.”

Richie scoffed at him. “Night’s young, baby.” He nosed at Stan’s hair, like he was searching for the “let loose and guzzle some goddamn liquor, Staniel,” button, and he thought it _ must _ have been around here somewhere. He pressed a kiss into Stan’s curls, and he pulled away. “We should find Bev!” he declared. “I wanna _ smoke _.” And he didn’t mean cigarettes.

Stan spent another half an hour detangling Richie from the party, steering him from the booze tables as he pulled him along to talk to Bill — _ You're on Bev and Eddie duty. They’re upstairs smoking. Do you want me to call Mike? _ — and then later, when he found a classmate he cut up with for twenty minutes.

_ No idea who that was _, Richie laughed boisterously as he continued down the hall with his fingers hooked in Stanley’s belt loops. Like he was the sober one trying to cart his boyfriend home.

It took longer than initially planned, but eventually they were sneaking back into their dorm building, trying to avoid the RA as they slinked back to their room in the dead end of their 3:00 AM curfew.

They were in the home stretch, coming in through the stairwell at the end of their hallway, when Richie pulled Stan back against him, backing him up until Stan’s back hit the wall with a dramatic thud.

Wincing, Stan pinned Richie down with a stern glare, pointing an accusing finger as he listened for any sound that they’d disturbed anyone living in that dorm. After a moment of silence, though, Stan sighed and curled his fingers around Richie’s face instead. He didn’t really know what for, since as soon as Richie leaned into him for a kiss, Stan was twisting his face away from him.

Richie just redirected, dipping lower with his sights set on that pretty pale throat, unmarred by kisses. Stan thought that Richie might plan to correct that, and that wouldn’t do. Not _ here _ . He caught sight of the green lipstick on the hanging collar of Richie’s shirt, and the feeling came back. The one that flopped like a dying fish on a pier. The kind that twisted like a pull-can. Twisting, twisting, and working, until _ Pop! _

“You’re drunk,” Stan huffed, hiking his shoulders up to his ears to block the kisses Richie was trying to leave on the smooth skin of his throat.

“Barely,” Richie argued right back, but it was awful unmotivated. Like he knew just as well as Stan how many sheets he was to the wind. “I can walk in a straight line. Want me to? I’ll walk it right over to your mother—“ His voice was much too loud for the early morning hour, and Richie had no reverence for poorly college students just trying to get their rest.

Stan scoffed, “Beep beep,” and pushed him away with a palm to his face, cursing at him under his breath.

Richie laughed, going with Stan until he sagged his shoulder against the wall beside the shorter boy. “Wanna kiss you,” he told Stan absently, twisting to cage him in until he was pressed between Rich and the crook in the wall. “_ You look awful pretty this evenin’, Mistah Uris _,” he hummed in a terrible rendition of a Southern drawl.

Stan made a small nose in the back of his throat. He braced his palm against Richie’s collarbone, holding him back just a hairsbreadth from his mouth. Stan wondered if he could get drunk off of this, just off the vapor on Richie’s breath. Richie’s eyes fluttered, and Stan heard him swallow, the gentle click of his teeth as he shut his mouth. “You kissed that girl.”

He frowned lightly. “Who — Oh. Just shots, baby.” Stan shook his head, and Richie pulled back with a nod. He understood; of course he did. Richie was in tune with Stan, even with God only knows how many shots and tonic he was in. He knew Stan’s hang ups, like the lipstick, and the lingering stain of that girl’s peach lip gloss on Richie’s mouth, knowing that someone else’s spit would be in the equation made him want to gag.

It was one thing when Richie kissed Bev, or the boys. Stan knew the others. Trusted them, kissed them in soft moments shared between friends who had been friends for far too long, perhaps before time was even invented.

It was entirely different when Richie was swapping spit with other people, no matter the lack of connection: romantic, sexual or otherwise.

“Well, Stanny Boy,” Richie hummed, leaning against Stan until they were temple to temple, and then shifted to prop his chin on the crown of Stan’s head. Richie was so warm. Underneath his loud button down, he was a goddamn furnace It radiated heat right through Stan and fought against the delicate chill of the late-October hallways.

Stan waited for Rich to go on, but got nothing for his patience. Richie just breathed against him, thumbs sweeping in little circles along Stan’s hips underneath his shirt. He waited another moment before reaching up to tangle his fingers in Rich’s hair, curling one arm under Rich’s. He held Richie against him, just breathing with him, enjoying the soft moment.

He only pulled Richie away from him when the boy began to sway against him, exhaustion singing in his bones.

There was a noise down the hall, and Stan looked over Richie’s shoulder to find someone poking their head out of their dorm, squinting against the fluorescent lights of the hallway. Richie didn’t even move, just hummed his acknowledgement, still facing away with his face stuffed in Stan’s shoulder.

The boy gestured to his wrist, where a watch would sit. There was a tanline on his wrist. “Quiet the _ fuck _ down, dude,” he hissed, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed hair before popping back from wence he came, shutting the door soundly behind him.

Stan snorted at the display. “If we get a complaint filed against us, I’m going to blame you, Richard.”

“‘S okay.”

Stan rolled his shoulder until Richie picked his head up enough to look Stan in the eye. He kissed the bridge of Richie’s nose, just under the frames of his glasses. “Come on,” he prodded. “Time to go to bed.”

Richie’s smile was dopey, and Stan thought that it didn’t all have to do with the tequila on his breath. “Lead the way, dahlin’.” He wound his arm around Stan’s shoulders, carrying on with one of his Voices in Stan’s ear all the way down the hall towards their dorm.

Stan tucked them into Richie’s bed. It was the one farthest from their little window, something Richie would be grateful for in the morning, when his head was pounding and he cursed God Himself for his existence and the invention of hangovers.

He got Richie’s jeans off, and made him swish mouthwash and spit into a wad of tissues at the bottom of their wastebasket. He’d rouse him and make him brush his teeth before breakfast. They would probably all go out, nursing the ones in less-fortunate states.

For now, though, the shot of Listerine would do just fine.

Richie’s glasses were abandoned on the edge of one of their desks, not to be thought of again until the morning sun came to make his cruddy vision _ worse _.

Stan tucked the heavy quilt gifted from his mother between him and Richie on the little twin mattress. He pulled Richie into him, and wasn’t at all surprised when Richie went right with him, curling his arm under Stan’s torso. It took a moment for Stan to fight the blanket comfortably around them, tucking it around his own legs and leaving it loose around Richie's body.

Richie tugged at it and stuffed the blanket under his ear, sighing blissfully as he let his eyes slip shut. Stan pressed a kiss into his temple, and by the time he settled down, Richie was fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I sitting on 20k worth of It fic I can't post yet because I literally can't finish anything? yes. Am I gonna _try_ to finish and post more? _also yes_.
> 
> please do me a favor !! comment !
> 
> here's my [tumblr](https://littlemumman.tumblr.com/), please come talk to me about these dumbasses that I love so much.


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